“Not likely,” Basil sneered. “You’re guardian angels, aren’t you? Well, where were you when you should’ve been guarding my chapel last night—when someone set fire to it?”
Sylvia opened her mouth in an indignant reply, but Francesca’s wing brushed her nose as the other angel fluttered past her to place herself between Basil and her companion. Sneezing violently and rubbing at her tickling nose, she glared at Francesca’s back.
“We protect people, not buildings, Basil,” Francesca said, “as you’d know, had you followed the usual order of things and joined us in our world. But my and Sylvia’s assignment is a little different this time than just watching over Alaynia. I’d tell you about it—if you’d stay around long enough for us to finish even one conversation.”
Basil rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Evidently he would finally give them a little more of his precious time. Sylvia kept her thoughts to herself and allowed Francesca to continue, since she was sure Basil would disappear in a blink if she voiced her exasperation at his condescending attitude.
“You’ve tampered with Alaynia’s life—changed the order of things,” Francesca said. “And you cordoned off that time warp, so she couldn’t find it when she was searching for it right after she arrived. You’re interfering with her choice of free will, Basil. Alaynia, alone, has the right to decide if she wants to stay here or go back.”
“Back to what?” Basil snarled. “She’s got more here than she ever had back there. She didn’t have any family—no real friends. And I don’t want Chenaie turned into one of those darned tourist attractions—a lot of strange people sleeping in Chenaie’s bedrooms—wandering all over my grounds and trampling my grass and plants.”
He waved an arm around him. “Have you been to Rosedown and Greenwood back in that future time?” When both Francesca and Sylvia shook their heads, he went on, “They bring busloads of people in and let them gawk. And at old Whiskey Dave Bradford’s place, The Myrtles, they even let them sleep in the house—like that chit was gonna do with Chenaie.”
“Ohhhhh!” Sylvia dodged Francesca’s outstretched arm. “Since you’ve been visiting the future, you should know that calling women names like chit or girl can get you slapped with a lawsuit! It’s called sexual harassment!”
Basil threw back his head and roared with laughter. When Francesca clapped a hand over her mouth in a fruitless attempt to contain her own giggles, Sylvia scowled at them both and planted her hands on her hips. Her wings fluttered in agitation, fanning the air around them into a brisk breeze.
“What’s so darned funny?” she demanded.
“Oh, Sylvia,” Francesca said around her giggles. “You can’t ... can’t ...” She broke off into unladylike guffaws and swiped at a tear of laughter trickling down her cheek.
“What she’s trying to say,” Basil said with a chortle, “is that you can’t sue a ghost. ‘Course you might give it a try—if you could find one of those shyster lawyers who’s managed to make it into where you live.”
A deep flush of embarrassment heated Sylvia’s cheeks, and her lower lip trembled. Basil immediately stopped laughing and floated over to her.
“Aw, don’t,” he growled, laying a tentative hand on her shoulder. “I apologize. It’s just that I’ve been alone for so long, I guess I’ve forgotten how to treat ladies.”
Sylvia sniffed back a sob and shifted her delicate little nose upward. “You always treat Frannie like a lady. It’s just me that you always bicker with.”
Basil brushed back one of Sylvia’s cornrow braids and secured it behind her ear. “Well, I’ve sort of missed having a woman around to bicker with, too,” he admitted in a gruff voice. “My wife, Laureen, she had spunk, like you do. You remind me of her a little bit.”
“You mean because of the body I use? Your wife had black blood?”
A horrified look crawled over Basil’s face, and he backed away. “No! Not at all! I mean, she was Creole and had their dusky skin and beautiful black hair. But she wasn’t Negro!”
Sylvia glanced over at Francesca to see her companion’s blue eyes dancing with twinkles of mirth. She pursed her face into a frown of concentration, then laid her index finger beside her mouth. “I see. It’s the fact that your wife and I are both women and have a woman’s character traits—traits men enjoy. Beneath our different-colored skins, that is.”
Francesca chuckled and Basil quirked his lips drolly. “My Laureen would’ve said something like that,” he replied. “She always could make me see when I was acting like an idiot. In the future, they say chauvinist, like you called me the first time we met.”
“Idiot—chauvinist. They mean practically the same thing,” Sylvia mused.
“Maybe we could start over.” Basil reached out and took Sylvia’s hand, carrying it to his lips to kiss the back of it. “Miss Sylvia,” he drawled courteously, “I’m very pleased to meet you. And don’t you look pretty today in that red gown. Has anyone told you that you have beautiful eyes? Why, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen quite that shade of brown—such a deep chocolate. Those little sparkles in your eyes remind me of the wonderful, star-strewn sky over Chenaie at night.”
“M-my goodness,” Sylvia said in a flustered voice. “If all it takes to turn you from chauvinist to chivalrous is a little banter back and forth, I think I could come to like you very well, Mr. St. Clair.”
“Basil, please,” Basil murmured. “And I hope I haven’t taken too much liberty by addressing you as Miss Sylvia. Such a delightful name, Sylvia.”
“Well,” Francesca said. “Now that you two have called a truce, maybe we can get down to business here. I have to be honest with you, Basil. You’ve interrupted our plans for a vacation, and we’d like to get this matter settled quickly. All you need to do is stop interfering with Alaynia’s choices, and we’ll leave you alone.”
Basil rubbed at his chin, a look of speculation on his face. “Alone, huh? Why, Miss Francesca, Miss Sylvia and I were just discussing how charming I found the company of you two ladies. You wouldn’t deprive me of your companionship so quickly, would you?”
“Basil, you’d have plenty of company, if you’d join us in our world.” Francesca drew in an exasperated breath. “Of course, that’s your decision. But first you’ve got to set Alaynia’s life back in order.”
“Let’s discuss that for a minute.”
Basil waved them over to a nearby cloud, which fashioned itself into two benches as they approached. Taking Sylvia’s hand, he seated her, then bowed and offered his hand to Francesca. With a sigh of acquiescence, Francesca allowed him to seat her beside Sylvia. As soon as Basil sat down across from them, Francesca crossed her arms on her chest and stared at him.
“Let’s look at the situation,” Basil began. “Since Miss Mirabeau has already made the trip back here from the future, who’s to say that wasn’t the plan for her all along?”
“I don’t understand,” Francesca said. “You’re the one who brought her back here. Are you trying to say that your interference in her life was what was supposed to happen to Alaynia?”
“Perhaps,” Basil said with a nod. “My grandson is already very much taken with Miss Mirabeau. Perhaps her true future is with him.”
“You sound like Sylvia,” Francesca fumed. “I’ve tried to tell her over and over that we can’t meddle in humans’ emotional lives. It’s just not done!”
“Now, Frannie,” Sylvia put in. “If there is love developing between Alaynia and Shain, what right do we have to intervene in that? Huh? We might be thwarting Alaynia’s true destiny.”
“Oh, for pity sakes!” Francesca rose from the bench. “I told you what our assignment was, Sylvia. We were to come back here because Alaynia had zipped through time—against the natural order of things.”
“Nature doesn’t always follow an orderly progress,” Sylvia insisted. “Haven’t you studied evolution? The twists and turns in the past made people what they are today. And, yeah, you told me about our assignment,
but—”
“Ladies, ladies,” Basil soothed. “Let’s don’t get into a fuss here. Anyway, that’s all beside the point right now. It took quite a bit of preparation on my part to manufacture the boost of power necessary to bring that ch ... Miss Mirabeau here through time and cordon off that time warp. I don’t have the necessary time now to make those preparations again. With Chenaie being threatened, I have to protect it. And, as I’m sure you’re aware, I’m the only one who can undo what I’ve done.”
“Well, since you’ve been to the future, haven’t you ... uh ... lived through this period of Chenaie’s history?” Sylvia asked logically. “Of course, Frannie and I were occupied elsewhere, but you’ve been here since you died, haven’t you? So you should know what happens and if things will work out all right, without your having to stay here and watch over things.”
“I can’t remember,” Basil admitted. “I guess when I tampered with time, I tampered with my memories, too.”
“Someone else may have done that,” Francesca explained.
Basil’s mouth dropped and he glanced fearfully overhead. After a second, he said, “Well, I can remember why I brought her back here—my reasons for that. But now I don’t know what’s going to happen in this time period.”
“That makes a sort of convoluted sense,” Sylvia said. “Angels aren’t allowed to look into the future, either. The overall plan isn’t ours to see. I guess it has something to do with humans’ right to their free will. The choices they make foster their own growth, and we can’t disrupt that.”
“Something else comes to mind as extremely sensible.” Basil looked back and forth between the two angels. “Three heads would be better than one lonely old ghost’s head in bringing whoever’s causing trouble for Chenaie’s people to justice. I really can’t concentrate on anything else as long as the peace and quiet of Chenaie is in jeopardy.”
“Once that’s back on track, you’d have some uninterrupted time to set things right with Alaynia, then?” Francesca questioned.
“If you insist,” Basil agreed. “At least, my powers of concentration will be free to focus on something else.”
Francesca flipped her hand and a table appeared between the two benches. She sat back down beside Sylvia and grabbed a paper and pencil from the air.
“We’ll get organized, then,” she said. “Oh, I wish I had my computer here, but I guess this will have to do.”
Chapter 15
Alaynia picked up a piece of buttered biscuit and tore off a small chunk. Instead of eating it, she dropped it on her breakfast plate among the barely-touched eggs and ham. Surreptitiously, she slipped a look at Shain, who sat drinking a cup of coffee at the head of the table on her left, his own untouched plate shoved aside.
He didn’t look like he’d slept a wink. Dark circles purpled beneath his shadowed brown eyes, and though he’d obviously taken time to wash up somewhat, a smudge of ash streaked his forehead. The shirt he wore was clean, but unironed, as if he’d picked it up out of one of the laundry baskets, and the growth of beard on his face gave him a devilishly handsome look. But the set of his mouth corresponded with the worried, shady depths of his eyes.
On the other side of the table, Cole shoved his clean plate away and pushed his chair back. “I’m gonna find me a razor before I go into St. Francisville,” he said to Shain. “And get one of your servants to press the extra shirt I’ve got in my saddlebags.”
“Whatever you need,” Shain agreed. “Jake will be here pretty soon.”
“Oh,” Alaynia said as Cole left the dining room. “I forgot all about going to St. Francisville with Jake. Maybe I should cancel that for today.”
“Why?” Shain asked. “You might as well do something pleasant with your day. There’s nothing you can do around here.”
“Nothing except maybe be here for you,” Alaynia murmured. “Shain, talk to me. How did that fire start? Will you rebuild the chapel?”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about.” Shain’s lips grew even grimmer. “You’ll have an escort to town, since Cole’s riding in to talk to the sheriff. I’ve also asked him to wait until you and Jake are done shopping and ride back with you.”
“Then there is something funny going on. You didn’t mention yesterday that I needed anyone besides Jake with me. And what’s Cole going to tell the sheriff?”
“He’s just going to report the fire.”
“Buildings burn down all the time, Shain. The only time law officials get involved is when there’s arson.”
Shain got to his feet and stepped over behind her chair. With a sigh of displeasure, Alaynia rose, then turned to grab his arm as Shain started to stride away.
“You’re avoiding telling me something. Is it because you don’t trust me—or because I’m a female, who’s too feather-brained to understand the problems a man has to deal with?”
Shain condescendingly patted her hand on his arm, and Alaynia’s temper boiled. She gritted her teeth as he spoke, his words fueling her growing anger. “Just go into St. Francisville and find yourself some pretty dresses. If there’s something you want that Jake overlooks, tell the shopkeeper to send the bill to me. Oh, and Jeannie’s birthday’s next week. We’ll have a small dinner party for her, so you might look for a present for her, if you want. Here.”
Shain dug in his pocket and pulled out a coin. When he held it out to her, Alaynia could barely see through the red mist in her eyes. She bit down hard on her inner cheek, forcing herself to calmly accept the coin and clench her fist around it. A second before her anger burst its bounds, Shain tenderly brushed her cheek with his index finger.
“Have a good time, sweetheart. Don’t worry about the fire or anything else. I’ll take care of things.” He lowered his voice, though they were alone in the dining room. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten what we had planned. There should have been a completely different kind of fire at Chenaie last night.”
Alaynia’s mind grabbed desperately at the trailing dregs of her anger, but they disappeared before she could capture them. Her legs trembled as Shain lowered his head, and her arms crept upward, finding their natural place around his neck. He kissed her softly at first, then gathered her into his embrace and tightened his arms, deepening the thrilling pressure of his lips.
A long moment later, he raised his head and pushed her gently away, but ran his palms up and down her bare arms. “I don’t know what brought you here,” he whispered, “or how long you’ll stay. But don’t believe for a minute that I don’t appreciate your being here. You’ve got enough on your mind, though, and I told you that I’d take care of you. Now,” he stepped back and released her, “enjoy yourself today.”
“I’d rather you were taking me to town,” Alaynia grumbled. “However, I understand that you’ve got things here to take care of. But you darned well better understand this, Shain. I’m not used to sitting around like some ornament on a knickknack stand. I need something more to do.”
They both turned toward the open dining room window when the sounds of an arriving wagon and muted voices filtered into the room. “Sounds like Jake’s here,” Shain said. “I’ll have the buggy hitched up, so you don’t have to ride in that decrepit wagon of his.”
He started to leave the room, pausing at the doorway. “Alaynia?”
She stilled her hand, which had been unconsciously rising to caress the lingering feel of his lips on her mouth, and gazed questioningly at him.
“You can assist Jeannie in planning the dinner party, if you want something to do. That would be a help. And ...” he continued in a growl just loud enough for her to hear, “you make an awfully pretty knickknack ornament.” He disappeared out the door before she could say anything more.
“Damn you, Shain St. Clair,” Alaynia murmured, but her mouth refused to alter from the huge smile spreading across it. The glow pervading her body tingled all the way to her fingertips, which finally traced a lingering path back and forth across her lips. With an ironic shrug of her shoulders,
she chastised herself for so easily disintegrating beneath his touch—his kiss.
He was infuriating—he was gentle. He had a temper—he was so masculine. He made her feel so feminine.
Too feminine. For years she had competed with male restorationists, building her own reputation and letting her clients know that she could read a blueprint with the best of the men—clomp around in her work boots with steps just as loud as the men. In fact, many of her clients agreed that her ideas showed much more sensitivity in recreating the period modes than the recommendations offered by her male counterparts.
She could hammer a nail—trowel a brick—visualize the final result she sought in a room and make even the tiniest adjustment necessary to smooth the flow and bring it together. But her creative abilities were useless in dealing with the emotional aspects of falling in love.
And she was falling fast—on a downhill slide that no force on earth could neutralize. She hadn’t had time to untangle the logistics of it, beyond coming to terms with the fact that she’d definitely entered a time warp when her car skidded down the highway. But she’d seen no trace of it afterwards. She’d have to find it again to return to her own time.
The pull to do that wasn’t nearly as strong now as when she first arrived. Always Shain hovered in a corner of her thoughts. Chenaie was Shain—his plantation, his home. He superintended its people, its crops—walked its rooms—sat on the furniture—ate his meals at the dining room table. Chenaie would never be hers alone again, even if she did reverse the time warp’s path.
Part of the problem, though, was that Chenaie was totally Shain’s. He shared the shelter of the manor house with her, but completely maintained the management and concerns himself. How could she ever tolerate being pampered and cosseted, rather than sharing his life? She already desperately missed the satisfaction she got at the end of each day from knowing that she had filled the hours with accomplishments of her own.
But, damn, he pampered and cosseted so nicely ...
Witch Angel Page 17